- Mark Olival-Bartley
- Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU München, where I tutor composition and edit a poetry weekly, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.
by Mark Olival-Bartley
The words—they come, as ink to paper comes,
as naught at first; but when the pen's nib slips
into its native groove, the deluge sums
what Noah knew would come from misted drips:
The world is lost as mental cadence hums
the hammers, Vulcan-like, that forge the chips
of Logos into mettle that now mums
the Muse to yield what the prosaic skips.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.